


Past Deeds

by Marta



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Battle, Character Study, Redemption, Tragedy, Triple Drabble, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-12
Updated: 2008-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta/pseuds/Marta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the attack on Sirion, Maglor is reminded of past deeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Deeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhyselle](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rhyselle).



Maglor looked out the palace window, entranced by the sight: ships burning; the whole harbor alight. He swallowed hard against the bile in his throat. 

He closed his eyes, as if doing so would take away the ships that burned now, and the ones that had burned at Alqualondë. The harbor had not simply burned at Alqualondë; he and his brothers had turned it red with blood. And for what? Some pretty bauble, his father's pride, oaths sworn at Túna when mist and grief clouded his heart? And why was he still so willing to spill blood for that curséd promise uttered so long before?

He had heard screams since then, seen elven-blood on his sword, but the flames.... It was the flames that pulled him back to that bloody night. Maglor remembered a Telerin youth who'd stood on a berth, blocking his way. Had the boat been his father's? Had they used it to pull fish from the sea, or perhaps explore up the coast? Had it really been worth dying for?

In the end, none of that mattered. In the end, Maglor had sunk his dagger into the youth's gut. He'd frozen in horror, then, and the lad's blood had run through Maglor's fingers and over his hands. The Telerin had died, and Maglor – he'd been cursed to live.

Maglor grasped his sword more tightly, to steady his hands. 'Twas too late to save that boy, he knew that, or even to turn aside from this latest battle. His hands were bound by that ancient oath, and he could no more change his course now than a twig could alter a river's path. 

His only hope lay forward, he knew: to find Elwing, to reclaim his father's cursed jewel. Then, perhaps, the oath would rest for a while.


End file.
